Gunmetal Sky
by iandyourghost
Summary: Being free equates, pretty much, to the fact that no one bothers to tie you down.
1. vitriolic

,not mine.

* * *

It was raining. _Nothing good every comes out of rain, _Allen thinks morosely, boots clicking lightly against the cold marble of the hallowed halls, a tinny echoing sound heavy with the moans of ghosts. He shivers, pulls his still-soaking coat closer to his body, wondering why, in between the flashy zippers and fire repelling capabilities, Komui couldn't have thrown in a waterproof cover. Well, not that it mattered.

Allen was nevery really comfortable with churchs, even less with abandonded churchs, left to rot after its occupants either fled or were killed by akuma.

_Cursed child, puppet of God, why doth though treadeth upon my land?_

Allen pressed both palms against the damp wood of the large doors, pushed it open slowly, wincing at the creaking groan of protest from the rusted hinges. The inner halls weren't much better, he noted. Melted stubs of candlewax, half-used, were the only sign that life had ever bothered to exist here, the pews empty of anything, even spiderwebs. The only light came from the raging sky outside, a howling wounded soul that struck at the stained glass.

_With my luck, I'll probably be stranded in this godforsaken place, _Allen muses expaseratedly, sighing. He would never have come here anyway, except-

Pulling out a box of matches, thankfully dry, he carefully relit the candles, casting a haunted, jagged edge upon the shadows that danced upon the pews and the statue standing erect upon the center of the church. The whole church seemed to stir with that, a restless rustle that shivered across the stone walls, waiting.

_(our lord whoarthinheaventhykingdomcome)_

Settling himself as best he could on the cold bench, Allen folded his arms, closed his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, every sound echoeing against the heavy walls that kept the wounded sky out and the ghosts in.

"I would pray," he starts, finally. "Right now, but I seem to have forgotten the words. Bloody stupid of me, not to have brought a Bible or anything."

But, I'm here, right? Mana? You used to love going to church, and you would drag me to one whenever you could." A hollow, tinny laugh. "I never got that."

_(give us this day)_

_Cursed child, puppet of God._

"I remember you said to me, all the time, that you would find some way to make me come to one voluntarily. I guess your dieing did the trick, didn't it?"

_Broken doll, blood of demons._

_(giveusthisdayourdailybreadand)_

"I'm not sure why you wanted me to go to church, or even why you saved me in the first place. I'm not sure of anything anymore."

_It's still raining outside. It rained when you died._

Allen opens his eyes, casts them upward, locks gazes with the statue, its marble eyes boring into him, accusingly, a burning catharsis led by a mad wraith.

_there is blood upon your hands._

"But I know this is probably the last time I'll ever be able to go to church"-the humming was so strong now, throbbing against his skull, beating upon his heart, impatient-"and I figured I ought to just give it one last try."

_There is blood on your hands, can you see it?_

_(forgiveu sourde btsa swe for giveou rdebto)_

His head hurt, and he got up slowly, carefully, feeling every bit as old and insubstantial as the soul of this church, this godforsaken place every bit as damned and abandoned as he was.

"I'll keep moving. I promised. But where? I don't know." Another laugh, more bitter this time. "Did it ever matter? It all turns out the same anyway."

The storm was still raging outside, a gunmetal gray sky that tasted of iron, but he would brave it over this church any day.

"Good bye. I guess." He leaves the candles still glowing, the doors open, yawning maw of hell. He leaves, and never look back.

It rained the rest of the week, and the week after.

_(forgive-us-our-debts-as-we-forgiv)_

_(asweforgi)_


	2. Blue sky long ago

His arm hurts, throbs in pain, ruby red blood seeping into his clothes and his hair and the dusty black dirt of the vacant lot. All he can see for a second is razorsharp white juxtaposed against the cage of pale sky and ratty city-scape. He collapses on the ground, gasping, and his master scoffs in disgust.

"Stupid apprentice," he kicks Allen in the chest, lightly, "is that the best you can do? Fuck, I got stuck with a sissy. One more time."

Still dizzy, Allen shakes his head, cradling his left arm to his chest, "it hurts."

His master sighs, snubs out his cigarrete on the arid ground with one pointed boot, "well, of course it hurts. What? Think it wouldn't? Now, one more time."

Allen shakes his head again, more adamently, pushing his body farther off the ground with his one good arm. "I can't."

A hand reaches out, flicking him on the forehead, then his master stands up, dusts off his black coat, "do what you want, you idiot. How are you going to keep your promise like this?"

_Promise._ Oh. He remembers now. _Mana. I promised Mana._

Not more than five steps out of the empty lot, (a stray patch of dusty nothings, hunched between the black houses like a child, a lost orphan with nowhere to go) Allen calls out. "Wait!"

General Cross turns around; the scrawny brat was standing again, hand clutching at his arm, knees caved so close they were almost touching. Teetering, unstable. But standing.

"I'm ready." He says, his gray eyes sharper now, a cloudless silver sky.

Cross smirks. "Alright. Took you fucking long enough."

Allen takes a deep breath, digs his feet into the dusty, cracked earth, feels the hum of beginnings and endless sky _thumpthumping_ against the soles of his feet, thudding in his bones.

_"Is there a blue sky where we're going, too?"_


End file.
